


Suicide Buddies

by spaceleviathan



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Loki and Tony are the same and no one can tell me otherwise, References to Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceleviathan/pseuds/spaceleviathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony tried to kill himself. Turns out he wasn't the only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suicide Buddies

_Sorry_ , the paper said.  _This is selfish_.

Or, at least, it should say that, though Tony couldn’t read the shimmering writing well enough to check. He dropped the pen from his shaking hands and eyed the small drive which he placed next to the scrawl. He nodded, satisfied it was all where it should be, which was in the centre of the neat desk, though, admittedly, only neat because Tony had pushed everything else onto the floor. He stumbled over several of the misplaced items now, crunching something expensive sounding under his boot as he made his way over to the 1961 California Spyder.

He collapsed heavily inside, hands over his face in an attempt to make the room stop spinning. The ceiling continued its ceaseless rotation and Tony watched transfixed through his fingers, helpless to do anything but stare until his head started to ache from it and his eyes watered.

He rolled onto his side, reaching into his hoodie pocket and extracting the water bottle filled with vodka, and then the pills. He watched them for a while as well, unable to read the label as his concentration was shot to hell and his thoughts were thus incapable of making sense of the letters which were printed in too small type on the side of the bottle. He made a mental note of demanding enlarged text on important packaging like pills so one could read them at any stage of inebriation, but then dismissed the thought as irrelevant.

He sat up and tried to look over to the desk again, to see whether the drive was still there, but he couldn’t focus well enough to make out the details. He gave up, instead looking down to the pills and the vodka morosely.

“Bye, JARVIS.” He hiccoughed, but there was no answer - JARVIS had been disengaged an hour ago so the meddling machine couldn’t contact Pepper or Rhodey or someone else sensible who knew the codes to his labs such as Steve or Natasha. They were all asleep anyway, most likely. The Black Widow and Hawkeye might even be out of the country for some top secret S.H.I.E.L.D mission for all Tony knew. No one actually told him anything anymore, bar, ‘Don’t you have a company to run, Stark, instead of getting in my way?’ from Fury, or, ‘Regarding your second vocation as Iron Man, Mr. Stark, it is advisable that you make regular checks to your will.’ from his lawyer. A copy of the most recently revised version of his last will and testament was what was held on the drive he had left specifically on his desk.

Today had been a mixture of partially the first but mostly the second, and along with it came the depressing revelation that his will is going to be acted out sooner rather than later. Following was the fact that really all he’d be doing is giving certain responsibilities over to Pepper, which he had already done, and handing various property away. Pepper gets the Malibu mansion and Rhodey gets the one on Moloka’i. Happy gets the cars, bar whichever ones Pepper and Rhodey want, as well as a few for the Avengers. The Avengers get the rights to the tower and the before mentioned cars and Bruce gets full access to all his labs whilst Pepper gets the entirety of Stark Industries. The Iron Man suits were for the Avengers - and only the Avengers, not S.H.I.E.L.D - to decide what to do with.

That was it. There was nothing else to give. The sum of Tony Stark was in his technology, and he’d just signed that all away to the significantly more competent individuals upstairs on the event that he die. And he was going to die. He had no special training to be a S.H.I.E.L.D agent like Natasha or Clint, no near-immortality like Thor, no hot-headed unbreakable ball of giant green fury inside of him like Bruce, no serum to make him superhuman like Steve. He was just Tony - an arrogant genius with the capabilities to make a rather spectacular suit or seven or nine. Other people will be able to do that soon enough - Ivan Vanko was more than capable of it, as he had more than proven.

Tony liked to say that he and the suit were one, but yet there  _he_  was, chasing too many pills with alcohol, aware of the judging eyes of Iron Man watching him from the shadows of the pretend eyes in the suits he had created. The drunkard lying in a super-expensive car filling his body with more drugs than he could handle could never measure up to what Iron Man had become or what people saw Iron Man as, what he stood for. Perhaps he never was Iron Man in the first place. He was just Tony Stark, heavy with guilt and burden and pain, playing dress up, pretending to be a hero.

—-

Tony assumed they’d found him before it was too late, or heaven or Niflheim or Valhalla or hell was setting an odd first impression by making the beeping sounds more readily associated with a hospital room than with a realm of eternal rest - or torment, depending on whose opinion is asked where Tony would end up.

Peeking an eye open, Tony didn’t see flames and damnation. Just an empty room and some closed blinds, hiding the outside world from seeing his bed which was more comfortable than he had expected of your typical hospital room. Money was useful sometimes, Tony thought absently.

He looked to the door when it opened, and a doctor came in. She didn’t wear any expression besides relief.

“Good to see you awake, Mr. Stark.”

He wasn’t sure if he agreed with the sentiment or not. He smiled anyway, though it felt strained.

“Would you like to see anyone?” She asked.

Tony thought to Pepper’s sad, heart-broken eyes, Rhodey’s angry, betrayed expression, Captain America’s disapproval. He couldn’t stand to think about it, so he took the coward’s way out - he turned over and went back to sleep. An attempt to block out the world a little longer.

—-

It didn’t last. They all cornered him eventually, and there was crying and shouting and endless demands for  _why_.  _Why_  did you do this, Tony? _What_  made you think this was a good idea?  _How_ long have you been planning this? Just tell me  _why_.

There was a psychiatrist involved. Tony didn’t want to speak with him and spent much of the time ignoring the man’s prodding and staring down at the shaking hands which gripped his knees tightly.

When they let him go home he endured a tense car ride with a furious Happy Hogan, and hid himself in his lab, much to everyone’s disapproval. After re-engaging JARVIS he’d asked for complete privacy. The door beeped and showed a light to prove it was secure, but JARVIS didn’t answer. Tony knew that if he tried anything even remotely dangerous JARVIS wouldn’t hesitate in bringing someone in. Y-U and DUM-E were avoiding him as well, though the latter had reacted positively, if instinctively, to his touch when he’d put out a hand to reassure them he was back.

He stayed hidden for four days, and he was only bothered a minimal amount of times. His team-mates most likely assumed Tony was trying to heal himself in his work, his machines, his passion. They were wrong. Tony spent a large majority of the time hiding in the more secluded areas of his labs, hidden from the view of the large windows, watching his hands tremble.

—-

Thor and the Hulk had a relationship based on competition. When one pulled some miraculous stunt, the other would go out of their way to beat it the next time a villain showed up for the Avengers to fight. It was all very alpha-male - the two strongest Avengers butting heads to prove their worth like rams locking horns to win the heart of the ewe. It was immature - if funny - and Steve was the one who eventually put a stop to it when a challenge to see who could destroy the most Doombots had almost torn out Thor’s stomach and taken the Hulk’s head from his shoulders.

When they weren’t trying to out-do each other the Hulk and the god of thunder were a formidable team. Strong and practically indestructible the both of them, they were the Avenger’s front line - the ones who, along with Captain America, deliberately got in the way so the less imperishable Avengers didn’t get hit in their wake. Iron Man was fine, unless his suit got bashed up, with happened more often than he’d like to admit, Hawkeye didn’t like going too deep into the fray in the first place, and the Black Widow’s outfit consisted of leather and not much else. Thor and the Hulk didn’t mind getting a bash on the head if it meant another of their team didn’t. What was just a headache to them was considerably more serious to someone else.

But the story was different with Bruce Banner.

Thor was an affectionate individual - tactile and enthusiastic, he always had an arm slung around a teammate’s shoulder, or a hug to award Tony for not dying this battle (though it was, as always, a close one), or a heavy pat on the back for Clint when he’d performed a particularly gob-smacking piece of archery (“Enough to rival the great Ullr himself!” Thor had once proclaimed), or a hand to help Steve up after a tiring battle, or a kiss to the cheek when Natasha had saved him from being speared from an adversary sneaking up behind him. Thor held great issue with such a tactic, and so oftentimes forgot that his enemies would not be so chivalrous and each Avenger had Thor’s back for this reason. Even the Hulk once received a friendly punch to the arm - an action which the great green creature had returned, albeit somewhat harder but nevertheless equally affectionate. Or so they think.

But not Bruce Banner. Thor was a different person around Bruce. He was no less caring or happy, but he was cautious and didn’t dare to touch him heavily. He’d once stumbled into Bruce when he caught his giant feet on one of Tony’s rugs, and had it been anyone else he would have laughed it off, offered a hand to help them to their feet and congratulated the unfortunate victim who had the god on thunder fall on top of them for surviving such an ordeal with nary a broken bone to show for it. With Captain America he wouldn’t even have gotten that far and it probably would have regressed into a friendly wrestling match in the middle of the common room.

But it wasn’t any of the others, it had been Bruce, and Thor had panicked. Thor hadn’t just offered a hand; with the delicacy of one picking up a bird with a broken wing Thor had hoisted Bruce up despite the other man’s protests, saying, “I’m fine, Thor, you’re not  _that_ heavy,” and placed him on the settee. Then, looking distressed, the blond fled the room. Bruce had sat up from the lying position the god had left him in and looked about as shocked as the other Avengers.

“What was that about?”

They hadn’t known at the time either.

—-

They all sit now in the kitchen, and it’s been two and a half weeks since Tony almost overdosed on sleeping pills. Tony had been joining everyone for breakfast for the last three days, and he’s suffering through what was most likely going to develop into post-traumatic stress, terror of tablets and all. The shock wasn’t quite fled yet, either. Shock at his own actions, and more than enough horror. He had been physically sick when he first fully realised what he’d almost done, pained, scared, and Pepper had found him lying curled around the toilet, body shuddering with sobs. She hadn’t been mindful of vomit or tears as she embraced him, holding him tight, rocking him, calming him. They’d fallen asleep together, curled up as closely as physically possible, each refusing to let the other go.

The Avengers were trying to act as normally as possible for Tony’s sake, but Tony couldn’t quite escape the ever watching eye of Clint even if he wasn’t always able to actually see the archer nearby, or the understanding look from Bruce - an expression which cut too deeply into Tony and only worked to make him feel worse. He’d worked so hard to help Bruce overcome his own anguish and suicidal thoughts and to accept that part of him which he despised. Then, of course, Tony had gone against everything he’d said by being a huge fucking hypocrite and attempting to rid himself of his own life, leaving his body in a lab to be found by Dr Banner. And he  _had_  been found by Bruce. Tony hadn’t realised until later, but once he had it was obvious that the most likely candidate to discover Tony’s limp, pathetic, dead body would be the good doctor, as he was the only one living permanently in the tower whom Tony allowed to treat his lab as their own.

Steve couldn’t hide the sadness in his baby blues, and Natasha was constantly wary of him, on edge, unnerved. Though, quite horribly, seemingly unsurprised by what had happened. _Self-destructive_ , Tony remembers reading, or something along those lines. Natasha had probably seen this coming a mile away.

Then there was Thor. A great wallop to the back was not uncommon in the mornings, especially not for Tony who Thor felt needed to be ‘hardened up to be like the warriors of Asgard’ with surprise training when he least expects it, such as, for example, a friendly attack prior to early morning coffee. It was perhaps not the best idea, keeping Tony from his coffee, but it had proven effective as he  _had_  developed some amount of muscle mass in his desperate struggles to escape the god and retreat into the safety of the coffee machine’s metaphorical embrace.

This had all disappeared very suddenly. At first, Tony was thankful as he had more than enough on his plate without wrestling a veritable bear of a man-shaped thing with inhuman strength and incessant wells of energy every morning. But now it only concerned Tony, and for the first time in the last few weeks he paid attention to more than just himself and the pitiful grey his life had become.

Thor, he realised, was treating him with immense care, as if he were fragile, and when he looked at Tony, Tony saw great loss and mourning hidden in those clear sky-blue pools. And then all at once the genius understood. That was how Thor looked at Bruce. No matter how joyous or drunk, when his gaze was cast upon Bruce Banner his eyes gained that grieving, strangely guilty expression.

_You can’t, I tried._ He recalled.  _I put a bullet in my mouth and the other guy spit it out._

Upon this realisation Tony abandoned the breakfast he was doing no more than picking at with an unsteady spoon and stared at the god of thunder until Thor looked up and caught his eye. Right on cue, his face softened and sorrow overcame it.

“Who offed themselves in your family, then?” Tony asked, as tactful as ever, and Thor started. The others did too, looking horrified by Tony’s question. He ignored it, keeping Thor’s eyes trained on him, daring him to break the contact between the two of them.

“Nobody.” Thor managed to choke out weakly, and he couldn’t lie worth a damn so Tony knew he was telling the truth.

“Well then, who tried?” He revised, and Thor’s face immediately darkened. The rain which had been unseasonably present for the last fortnight fell a bit harder.

“Tony,” Steve tried, but Tony shushed him, not looking away from the blond god before him. Thor had turned back to his pancakes and was tearing them apart with his fork nervously, fidgeting and uncomfortable under the numerous gazes of his friends.

“Thor, you don’t have to talk about anything-” Bruce tried softly, but Thor interrupted.

“My brother.” He said, surprising even Tony for a moment. “It was my brother. He fell from the Bifrost. I did not completely understand why until more recently.”

“Loki tried to kill himself?” Tony gaped. “When?”

Natasha kicked him under the table for making Thor’s face look so haunted, showing some of the first genuine normal behaviour towards Tony from anyone for the first time in two and a half weeks. It still hurt, though.

“It was before he came to Midgard.”

Tony snorted into his bowl. “It’s a shame he didn’t succeed then.”

Thor stood abruptly and glared down at the inventor. Tony stabbed at his cereal a little harder.

“You have had me scared since I came here, Tony Stark.” Thor then admitted, softly enough to startled Tony into looking up. “You are much like my brother. I should have, perhaps, seen the day coming, when you too would give up and seek oblivion.”

“Like your brother?” Tony demanded. “How am I like him? Oh, boo hoo, Loki tried to kill himself? Well, so did Bruce, but Bruce hasn’t gone batshit crazy and tried to take over the world and kill hundreds of people in a manner of  _days_. I know you love him more than he deserves, Thor, but don’t you dare lump him in with us because he’s got some issues too. And stop looking at us like we murdered your goddamn puppy.” Now Tony is standing too, toe-to-toe with the taller man, glaring for all his worth up at Thor, feeling slighted, as if once again he was in the shade of someone else, even in this. His own attempts at his life hung heavy over him enough already, from Pepper and Rhodey’s grief to the guilt at betraying his words to Bruce, and now it turns out Thor’s little brother got to the pity-party first and won first prize for most tragic attempted suicide, demeaning Tony’s own along with it.

“Tony,” Bruce inserted in his soft voice from across the table, ignoring the fact he’d been dragged into the whole mess. Tony did feel sorry about that briefly. “He didn’t mean it like that.”

“Didn’t he?” Tony demanded, temper flaring where for a second it had waned. “I think he kinda did. And you know what else I think? I think that he’s lying. You say you understand, Thor, but you don’t. You can’t. If you say that, you’re lying to yourself and you’re lying to me. You think I’m like him? Well, I am. There,” he looked across the table, meeting each attentive eye. “I’ve admitted it. Do you think I don’t  _know_ that, Thor? I knew me and your goddamned fucked up brother were two of the fucking same as soon as he picked my tower as a centre point for his failed invasion. I’ve thought about it a hundred times over, and looking at him is like looking into a fucking mirror. What’s shitty is that I’m worse than he could ever dream to be. I’ve done what he did a thousand times before. My body count is higher, and for the longest time I was proud of it.”

And wasn’t that the hardest pill he’d ever had to swallow.

—-

Tony abandoned the prying eyes, the pitying looks which had returned with a vengeance, fleeing the room to storm into a corridor. He only looked back at the sound of footsteps echoing his own, and was met with the sight of Bruce Banner; another distorted reflection of himself, but one that was warped for the better. Not shattered, not empty. Not anymore.

Bruce’s hand was heavy on his shoulder, and the contact made Tony quiver. Repressed emotions bubbled over, and staring at Bruce hurt. Tony’s head found its place in the joint of his friend’s neck, and his hands gripped the doctor’s lapels. Bruce’s own hands migrated to rest lightly on his back, and Tony wanted to cry.

Words needed to be said but neither of them spoke. Bruce wanted to soothe, but knew Tony would react negatively to anything he could think to say. Tony wanted to apologise, to say sorry for dragging Bruce into something which shouldn’t involve him. But Tony had never said sorry sincerely, emotionally, in his life, and even now he couldn’t push the words through his lips.

But it was okay. Bruce knew from the shaking of Tony’s back, and Tony was slowly calmed by the fingers drawing lines down his spine.

“They keep asking ‘why’, Bruce.” Tony eventually ground out, unsure if his friend even heard it. “But this is why.” His grip tightened on Bruce’s jacket, his knuckles clenched white. “I forgot how it felt, but I remember again.”

Bruce understood. Of course he did. That sometimes, when someone was distracted or happy or even stooped in some other misery, they could forget why anything could have been so bad that they’d want to destroy themselves to be rid of it. Bruce himself had moments when he couldn’t recall why he’d ever felt at odds with the creature inside him. But then something would happen - a news flash would report some disaster that looked too familiar for comfort, or he’d be left alone in a room that was just a tad too silent, with just his thoughts and memories and nothing more. Or when a friend tried to push him to talk, and all he could do was push them away because everything was still just a little too raw. Then he’d remember; then he’d feel like he did back then. Bruce understood, he’d seen the signs in Tony, the peril obvious and blaring like an alarm, and he’d followed him out of the kitchen just to keep the inventor away from his emotions.

Sometimes feelings were too much of a nuisance to entertain. More than a nuisance - a danger. Neither of them could allow sadness and guilt and pity to interrupt the silence of this corridor, not in this moment when everything was so tender. It was a fresh bruise all over again, something which hurt to touch.

“I’m good.” Tony said then, his voice a little stronger than before. “I’m fine, I’m good.”

But neither of them moved.

—-

When he next met Loki, not a month later, Tony couldn’t quite help himself.

“I heard you tried to kill yourself!”

That got the god’s attention.

Not that Tony didn’t already have Loki’s undivided interest, much to his annoyance, as the other members of his team were preoccupied with problems on a lower level. On the roof of a skyscraper, Tony had been the first one to reach him.

Loki initially seemed angry that Tony would know something like that at all - that Thor would tell the Avengers - before being confused as to why it mattered. It was quite clearly something Loki hadn’t lingered on; something which he had almost forgotten about. Tony hadn’t been able to do the same. There were always reminders: It was in the way Pepper clung onto him a little tighter, or the way that Fury gave him a bit more space to breathe. It was in the way JARVIS was still only speaking to him in short, abrupt sentences, as if an AI could have the capacity to truly care about Tony’s life. It was in the way Thor still couldn’t meet his eye.

“Why d’you do it?”

Loki lashed out with a snarl, swinging his spear around with practised ease. He was skilled with the weapon, as they’d seen the first time they’d met him, though this new one was a little less glowy. Tony gave back as good as he got, blasting Loki with his repulsors for every scratch Loki made to his armour. The blasts resulted in about the same amount of damage to a god as the blade did to Tony’s paintjob. Scratches, but ultimately nothing.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected a more relevant line of questioning,” Loki admitted. “What with the erratic mind you possess. No ‘How did you escape’, or ‘What’s your plan this time’? Questions I was quite willing to answer.”

“I thought you were the god of chaos - you should like of this sort of thing.”

“Forgive me for not approving of my enemy’s ridiculousness.”

“Well, it  _does_  make me unpredictable.” Tony allowed, thrusters speeding him straight into Loki, tackling the God around the waist and throwing them both to the ground.

Loki coughed around a dry, “Indeed,” with the force of what was essentially the impact of a freight-train forcing him to meet solid concrete only slightly winding him.

“So own up.” Tony pointed a repulsor at Loki’s eye and hoped he wouldn’t have to blast Thor’s brother’s pretty little face off, for fear of what the hammer-happy god would do to him if he did. “You threw yourself into a void.”

Loki’s face darkened, the memories swimming clear as day behind toxic eyes. “You first.” He spat. “Your poisons failed you as my abyss did me.”

“I didn’t then go crazy and try to take over the world.” A point he was finding himself repeating, even to himself. A reassurance. Never mind that the influence of Stark Industries and the power of the Iron Man suit had essentially given him the key to the planet by that point already. He, at least, had resisted the urge to nuke it all when he’d woken up to the anger and pain he’d caused.

Neither of them seemed up to answering the question, so Tony asked those relevant ones Loki mentioned - the ones he could report back to Fury, ones which would garner a proud nod from Steve. _Look at Tony,_ they’d all think, _back in the game and back on track. Better than ever, even._ Lies, of course, but they didn’t need to know that.

“How did you escape?”

“Magic.” Loki answered promptly, a smirk dancing on his lips. “The All Father loves me. Therein lies foolish lenience.”

“And this new plan of yours?”

Loki stared at him, with that razor smile playing across his face. It was aggravating. Tony felt his hackles rise, let his repulsors whirr to a threatening charge. Loki didn’t so much as blink. He also didn’t answer. Tony resisted the urge to shake him.

“Why did you try to die?”

The smile slipped. A snarl replaced it. Loki’s patience ran out and Tony found himself being held upright by the neck, staring down at an angry god with glowing green hands. Tony took a moment to wonder why he was pushing so much.

“Because there was nothing left!” The god roared. “Nothing but blood and disappointment!”

Tony could feel the magic seeping in through his armour. Could hear it shorting out basic functions, and vaguely he registered JARVIS’s startled, “ _Sir_!” before he too was cut out.

“So you made some more?” He asked, reaching up to wrench his faceplate open just to breathe. Loki’s green eyes met his, and the god grinned. It was crooked, mocking, empty.

“There was nothing else.”

He dropped Tony, who, without power to the suit, dropped like a stone straight through the roof and down two floors. Loki followed, fascinated, watching him struggle with low-level auxiliary power to simply stand.

“Was it worth it?” Tony asked through the labour. “Amassing more of something which’ll just dig you deeper into that hole? Is it enough?”

Tony wasn’t sure what he expected as an answer, and had to take what he got.

“Yes.”

Yes. Of course it was. It had to be.

—-

He had no idea what Loki did to his suit, but it was damned annoying to not have it working. The team found him eventually - worried when they realised he wasn’t in constant communication. How could he be when Loki deep-fried his comm?

Steve was the one who discovered him. Tony was, by that point, lying on the ground and humming to himself, not even bothering to gather up the energy to move. He’d more likely fall through more floors and do some actual permanent damage to himself than succeed in getting out safely.

“Tony!” Steve was by his side in an instant, asking what was wrong and looking far too relieved. Like he’d been scared Tony had died all over again. A fair assumption, perhaps, but not a welcome one.

“I’m fine, Loki just… did some mumbo-jumbo crap to my armour. It’s actually really heavy, did you know?”

Steve smiled at him, but his face shifted swiftly to a confused expression. “What happened to Loki? He disappeared a while ago. Not sure when - our attentions were on dealing with the Doombots.”

“Loki just left. He yelled at me for a bit and disappeared in an honest-to-God  _puff_  of smoke.”

“He left you alive?”

“Maybe he found it funnier to watch me squirm.” ‘Fight’ was perhaps a more appropriate verb. Tony had been wrestling his own suit in an effort to simply look Loki in the eye. The bastard probably  _would_  have thought it was a hoot if Tony hadn’t been trying to viciously dig up all those semi-forgotten memories. Loki wouldn’t thank him for it. He’d be back, when the shock wore off. He’d be trying for Tony’s blood next time.

Tony suddenly thought to ask. “Since when did Loki and Doctor Doom team up? They have got to be the worst pairing in the entirety of bad couples. Loki and Amora I could see, but Doom? I’d have thought they’d be more likely to tear each other apart trying to find space for their supreme egos before managing to work together.”

“Loki is also a wild-card which I didn’t expect Doom to like.” Steve agreed, reaching an arm around Tony’s chest to hoist him up. Tony didn’t move to help him in the slightest. Let the disgustingly strong, genetically enhanced super soldier do his thing. “As shown today. He seemed to have a bigger part in Doom’s plan, but instead of going through with it he disappeared, much to Doom’s annoyance.”

“Did we get him?” Tony asked when he was standing.

“Of course we didn’t get him, it’s Doom.”

“Who won today?” Tony was referring to Thor and Hulk’s revised game - whoever smashed the most cronies won the rights to pick the celebratory food. Self-repairing Doombots counted for double.

“Thor, and the Hulk stormed off somewhere to sulk. We were kind of hoping you’d go find him, as Bruce is your best friend, but since you’re out of commission Clint will have to do it.”

“I don’t trust Clint with Bruce.” Tony said. “I keep on thinking that one day we’re going to find a Hulk-sized fingerprint in a Hawkeye-coloured smear.”

“Well, we all think that about you, too.” Steve admitted, hoisting him into the elevator. Tony protested.

“The Hulk likes me!”

“You aggravate them both with sharp things.” The captain pointed out.

“Bruce is a zen master - pointy things just make him laugh.” Which was true. The more Tony did it the larger Bruce’s smile became.

“Did you get anything out of Loki?” Ah, yes, he’d been meaning to tell Steve about his, admittedly Loki-suggested, reasonable interrogation questions.

“What, you think I had a nice long chat with him? Dinner, some dancing, a few drinks afterwards?” Well, he’d tell Steve eventually.

“Maybe. After all, you spoke to him last time and got a reaction.”

Yes, at Stark Tower in the middle of an alien invasion. And that little talk of theirs had ended _so_  well.

“I asked what his plan was, which he didn’t answer, and he said he escaped by his magic. Something about Odin being lenient because  _daddy actually does love me_ , though he still sounded embittered. Still not worked out their differences, I see.” Tony finally said.

“I doubt they ever will.” Steve returned, not truly invested in the topic, as he was concentrating on shifting a fair few tons of metal into the elevator.

“Shame, really. I hate seeing families fall apart.” Steve only grunted in reply, not paying attention to Tony, nor his increasingly sarcastic drawl.

“Is that all Loki said?” The captain then asked, pressing for the ground floor. Tony would have managed a shrug if he were a little bit stronger.

“He was feeling a little sensitive today. Didn’t want to share his problems with the class.” By which Tony meant that there was no way he was going to talk about Loki snarling out one of his many issues with his fellow suicide buddy. Tony didn’t think it was relevant to the mission, and Thor wouldn’t be happy to hear that Tony had forced his kin to drag that bit of bad history back up. As far as Thor was concerned, Loki was still a delicate child that he, as the older brother, had to protect from the big bad universe. He sometimes forgot that Loki wasn’t going to break from a punch, wasn’t going to shatter from his twisted memories. If he was, he would have done by now. He if had, Loki wouldn’t still be alive.

Like Tony. They didn’t realise that, either.

—-

Sometimes he dreamed of falling. He found it calming. He knew first-hand how it felt.

—-

“Why did your brother try to kill himself?”

It wasn’t that he needed to know now he’d asked the god of mischief himself, but he  _would_ like to see how much Thor thought he knew. He doubted Loki would have told his pseudo-brother anything, even as little as he’d graced Tony.

Thor’s shoulders immediately hunched, but Tony was past caring. He was already aware how much more Loki’s attempted suicide, and Tony’s own, affected the people around them more than it did themselves, and he was growing immune to it. It was becoming irritating now. He hated feeling this shitty every time someone tensed because he’d reached for an after-mission painkiller.

“Why do you want to know?” The big blond asked.

“Curiosity, mainly. I know how he did it, and now I’d like to fill in the blanks as to  _why_.”

“It is not a subject matter I’d like to discuss.” Thor said gruffly, and Tony sat on the opposite couch heavily, huffily.

“Oh, come on. It’s not hard. Do you want me to guess? Did Loki try to kill himself because he’s a bag of cats and has no friends?”

Thor’s look promised dark things. Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Is it because he’s adopted? I mean, that’s rough, but it’s no reason to try to take over a different realm.”

“Stop, Tony Stark, I warn thee.”

“Oh, we’re back to Shakespeare. Okay, here we go. Question we, fair Odinson, of thine brother’s crime against his own life. Wondereth we if it were motivated thusly by jealousy of thine person? Your sire, we fear, did not love Loki as he loved thee.” Daddy issues. Tony knew them all too well. Enough that it wouldn’t surprise him if it was a factor in the mystery of what had nudged Loki closer to the brink.

“It was I.” Thor suddenly said, voice harsh and cutting, like a knife. Somehow it was reminiscent of Loki, of the dangerous edge the god of chaos used often and to great effect. Tony had to remind themselves they were not brothers by blood.

“You?” Perhaps Tony had misheard, because  _that_  was in nothing Loki had said, but the aggrieved look on Thor’s face quickly dashed the notion. “Well, I guess that gives the whole ‘let’s kill Thor’ thing some clarity, but what did you do?” Tony was trying to piece together the idea of the Thor he knew, the jovial blond with the booming laugh and the ever cheery demeanour, with the image of a man who had driven his younger brother to suicide. Nothing was coordinating.

Thor swallowed audibly. “I was blind. A fool.” He stared resolutely at his feet, refusing to look up, to fully face what he’d done. Tony settled in for story time. “I didn’t see what should have been obvious to me. I was swayed by my love for him, then betrayed by his lies. This was when I was stranded on Earth, Stark, and though I had Jane and Erik and Darcy, I felt alone; was mourning the loss of my family, and my father. So, when my friends found me and told me that Odin was alive, well, I felt Loki’s desire to steal my throne from me keenly. Following, he made an attempt at all the lives of the people who lived in that town, almost taking mine. So, truly, I was angry when I found him.” He took a breath, and glanced up. Tony reclined a little further into his own seat, waiting to see where this was going.

He knew the basic story - it’d been covered by SHIELD five times over when Tony had been dragged in to analyse some crappy security footage they had of ‘The Destroyer’. Coulson, one of the few willing to put up with Tony, along with having been personally present at the event, had explained the situation as coherently as his limited knowledge allowed him. When the team met up with Thor again, a few months after he’d disappeared with Loki in tow, they’d grilled him for a more detailed account.

Tony knew that Thor had screwed up a peace treaty with a planet called Jötunheim and killed a few dozen Frost Giants while he’d been there. He knew that in order to teach Thor a lesson, Odin had cast Thor out and sent him to Earth. There, Thor had been run over twice and tased by two tiny Earth women, one of whom was Thor’s dear Dr Jane Foster, and whilst there he learnt a bit about humility. Loki, the sneaky bastard, had told Thor his father had died so he could keep the throne for himself, but soon after Thor’s friends, labelled under SHIELD files as ‘Xena’, ‘Jackie Chan’, ‘Robin Hood’ and ‘Gimli’, showed up to enlighten Thor to the truth. Then the Destroyer attacked. Upon it’s glorious defeat, Thor rushed back to Asgard to see what’s what, and in a fight with his brother he destroyed the Bifrost to stop Loki from murdering an entire race - the Frost Giants, as it happens, which, had Loki succeeded, would have neatly and abruptly ended the war of which had started this  whole debacle in the first place. Tony now knew where the villain’s attempted suicide fit into all of it, but he still wasn’t sure how someone as batty and arrogant as Loki would willingly throw themselves off a bridge into a gaping abyss.

“I was  _furious_.” Thor continued. “I did not for a moment think deeper than what Sif had informed me of the situation. I knew that Heimdall was particularly incensed by my brother, but then Heimdall always is. Was.” And wasn’t that corrected bit of past-tense just a punch to the spleen. It carried such mourning with it, such nostalgia, such guilt. It was perhaps Thor realising for the first time that maybe his and Loki’s shared past wasn’t as much sunshine and daisies as he’d always thought it was. “I rushed to find him, and he was with our mother at our father’s bedside. He was angry as well - angry enough to send me through a wall, rather like he sent you through a window. It was of no danger to me, but it shocked me further. He had already tried to kill me, and again he would do so, so brashly in front of our mother with my father there in Odinsleep. He is aware, you must understand, of what is going on around him as he rests. He could hear us, perhaps even see through his mind’s eye, and that Loki would do such a thing in his chamber showed how deeply he hated me.

“I stopped his destructive plan, and I ignored his words. He fought me tooth and nail, talking all the while, but I had learnt long before that one of my brother’s greatest weapons is in his speech. You all know of this too - his craftiness with his tongue could hinder the greatest warrior, no matter how significantly they outmatched him physically. I heard, of course, what he said, but it wasn’t until later when I had time to reflect that I truly listened.

“The destruction of the Bifrost caused great damage, and the energies released as it was broken caused myself and my brother to be swept away by the shocks. My father caught me, and I caught Gungnir - the sceptre which Loki held as his weapon. When faced with my father’s disappointment, he let go.”

Ah. More passive than Tony had originally thought, then. Rather than planning, actively flinging himself downwards, Loki had instead saw an opportunity and took it. Encouraged by his warring emotions, no doubt, as Tony had been nudged along by alcohol.

“I had much time to linger on his words later.” Thor continued. “When alone, when wrapped in bereavement, I replayed what he had said, relived that last fight, wondering if I could have saved him. It was then that I heard what I had before ignored. Even in those last moments before he gave up and fell, he spoke tellingly. Truthfully. People call him a liesmith, Tony Stark, but he is most cutting when wielding the truth. That last time I spoke to him, before finding him again here on Midgard, he told me a great many truths. Whether real outbursts, or a bid to distract me, I know not, but I realised later that I had forgotten myself in my fury.

“I had assumed he’d tried to kill me so he could keep the throne, or become heir, but he informed me he never wished to rule. I believe him, Stark,” Thor said sharply, over Tony’s snort. “Even after he attacked your world. Perhaps it has changed - I can no longer claim to know my brother’s mind, if I ever did - but I am convinced that before he fell he had no desire for the throne of Asgard.”

“Well, that’s nice.” Tony finally said, disbelief painting his words a picture. “But you didn’t answer me - why  _you_? To be honest, it still sounds like him being an insane fucker.”

Thor’s eyes grew ever stormier. Tony wondered whether he should be more wary about where Thor’s nice shiny hammer was. Apology writ about his features - though not sincerely - Tony waved a hand for the god to continue.

“It was I because I did not listen, Tony Stark. I did not act as I could have to protect my brother, and further contemplation has revealed to me how poorly I have treated him in the past. Had I done differently at any point-“

“Stop.” Tony snapped, patience worn so thin that not even Thor’s glare and twitching fingers could discourage him. “You’re trying to tell me that Loki went loco because you didn’t pay him enough attention? Bull effing shit. I mean, daddy issues I kinda get because some of the stories you’ve told me about the two of them make me and my father look like veritable bosom buddies, but you? You are the only one in this universe who gives a single crap about him, and he knows that as well as you, and it  _pisses him off_. He wants to hate everyone for being horrible to him but he  _can’t_  because you  _haven’t_  been, and that means his pains and aches and reasons and angsts aren’t actually true. They hurt like a motherfuck, because let me tell you, only having one or two people doesn’t always cut it, but they’re not as  _potent_. Loki is nothing short of a goddamn diva, and damn if he doesn’t want to be mad at everyone.”

Thor tried to interrupt, but Tony steamrolled his protests into sweet silence. “What’s more for him is that it’s not just any old Joe who is out there loving him regardless - it’s the son of the one who  _has_  wronged him, and he thinks he has to hate you because you stand for everything he isn’t but should have at least tried to be. Don’t you think I don’t know that look on his face when he looks at you? I’ve felt that. That feeling of not being good enough and looking at the one person who is? Yeah, that’s me as well. So, no, you’re talking shit. Loki went off the deep end because he had a bad few days and, adding that to whatever shite he had repressed beforehand, he bubbled over.  _You_ couldn’t have done  _anything._ No amount of hugs makes it any better, Thor.”

“You do not understand, Stark! I was ignorant to his pain throughout our  _entire lives_ -“

“Well, I don’t pay my driver enough.” Tony shrugged. “We all do shitty things. But your being ignorant isn’t your fault. He can’t blame you for his suicide because he didn’t advertise the fact he was slowly burning down, and you can’t blame yourself that you didn’t notice if he didn’t tell you. That’d be like me blaming Pepper when I didn’t say that I was dying of palladium poisoning. Though, I did try, I swear on my mother’s grave, god rest her soul-“

“Stark, I could have done something for him, I know it.”

“No, you couldn’t have. Look, I don’t know how often you Asgardians deal with suicide, but you have got to see he was going to end up that way no matter what happened. Hell, Natasha pretty much knew I was in danger of offing myself as soon as she met me, and I have a hell of a lot more people supporting me than Loki does.”

“But he’s my brother, he would have  _listened-_ ”

“Are you not hearing me?” Tony snapped. “Loki is a lost cause, and probably has been for fucking ever. I know because I am too. I have failed to end my life, and I won’t be trying again, but that doesn’t make anything better. Life is as shitty as it was before and worse. As far as you should all be concerned I am dead and buried; it’s just my body has yet to catch up.”

And there it was, the terrible truth of it. The fact that Tony had been gone for a long time even before he decided to swallow some pills to help speed up the process.

He had rendered Thor speechless for a moment, a frankly astounding accomplishment, and the god was gaping at him in surprise, in horror.

When he’d seen Loki not twenty-four hours before, the god had shown Tony those cruel, dead eyes that cut deep and saw far more than Tony ever wanted him to see. He knew everything about someone at a glance, could measure up the size of a man in an instant, could see weaknesses and pick at flaws as soon as he faced them. Dead was an apt description for those eyes. All the Avengers agreed, even Thor. The only reason they hadn’t noticed a matching set on their fellow teammate was because, as far as they knew, Tony had always looked like that.

Thor saw now, and yet he still shook his head.

“You did not know my brother.” He whispered morosely, lost back in time with his wistful recollections and some brand spanking new revelations to taint them.

“Neither did you.” Tony hissed back, certain he knew Loki better than Thor ever did, and was even glad of the wince that shot across the blond’s expression. Truth burnt like a bitch.

“I would wish you silent, Stark.”

Perhaps Tony would have had something to say to that had Thor not sounded so thoroughly defeated. All at once Tony deflated, feeling more than a little empty himself. He eyed the bar in the corner. He wanted a drink and mourned the fact that since he’d almost drank himself to death he hadn’t been allowed so much as a sniff of alcohol. Even now, hurting and angry, Thor was watching him warily, ready to jump between him and the bottles if Tony tried to make a break for it.

“I would too.” He muttered, burrowing further into the pillows behind him, putting his head in his hand and wishing for the first time in not quite two months that he hadn’t had failed.

—-

Tony wondered what it felt like to realised that the end was so near; that all you had to do was reach out and take it.

He wondered if that freedom would feel like relief.

—-

Meeting Loki again soon after meant that, when he did, Tony was still burning from his talk with Thor. He had ammunition now; something to throw at Loki, something to hurt him with.

Yet, he found himself pausing to watch as Loki cackled and sneered and wreaked his havoc. He didn’t move to interfere, despite Fury’s increasingly agitated voice snapping at him through the comms, until he’d studied the god of mischief a little closer.

Worn down, a little battered around the edges, but ultimately still healthy, Loki was hanging in there. While he didn’t seem to be actively searching for Tony specifically, Tony also wasn’t about to forget that Loki was a dangerous war criminal with a tendency towards holding grudges. And he had to have a personal grudge against Tony this time, so Tony wasn’t about to go flying into what was likely to be his quick and painful demise without at least preparing a few insults and some new painful memories for Loki to rediscover.

Loki noticed him as Tony tried for a sneak attack of course, godly senses or magic or paranoia or whatever, but he didn’t raise a hand to stop Tony until Tony was close enough to be repelled by a small magic shield.

“Hello to you too, Stark.” Loki greeted, distracting the other Avengers with several clones and some nasty beasts Tony wasn’t completely sure were all illusion.

“Nice day for mayhem.” Tony pointed to a bright blue sky, and Loki nodded graciously.

“Rain is always a pleasure, but it’s more fun to make everyone miserable on a sunny day.”

“Well, I can’t speak for anyone else, but you’ve certainly ruined my mood.” Tony agreed.

“Oh, I apologise.” Loki said sincerely, without the sincere part. “I didn’t mean to rain on the Man of Iron’s parade.”

“That’s cute, you and your Earthly idioms. Who’d you pick that one up from and where will we find the body?”

“Kentucky, but you can’t prove anything.”

“What were you doing in Kentucky?”

Loki shrugged. “Some reconnaissance for a friend of mine. I’m not at liberty to tell you their name.”

“Oh, double teaming again, are we? May I just say that I’m glad you dumped Victor, your varying shades of green cloaks clashed horribly.”

“Didn’t they just?”

“ _Shoot him for Christ’s sake.”_  Clint’s voice was a sharp reminder of reality coming down Tony’s ear. Superior hearing must definitely be an Asgardian thing, because Loki smirked immediately.

“Seems like your friends are handling this just fine.” He peered down to street level, having picked another high spot as if aiming to draw Tony out specifically. “That will be my cue to say goodbye for today.”

Tony spluttered over his next sentence, and the resulting mash of words were along the lines of, “Wait, what? What about all the killing and the threats and the duel to the death?”

“Would you  _like_  a duel to the death?” Loki questioned, one eyebrow raised high up his forehead, knowing Tony would much rather live to see tomorrow. But it felt wrong to see Loki off without even a scrap on a rooftop to prove Tony at least tried to stop him.

“It  _would_  make me feel better.” Tony eventually admitted, and just like that the spear was back in Loki’s hands, and Tony had to sacrifice half a vambrace in order to keep his life.

Loki was quick and merciless, attacking efficiently at all Tony’s weak points, namely his joints and dangerously close to his arc reactor. He took out each of Tony’s repulsors within minutes, tearing the total arm of his armour off his left-hand side when Tony had come too close to taking Loki’s face with it. When Loki got the entirety of his strength into a swing of the blunt end of his very sharp stick to the back of Tony’s knees, suit or no suit, Tony dropped like a stone. Luckily, this time, not through the roof. By this point there was a deep gash through Tony’s stomach-plate and it was only luck that it hadn’t been deep enough to pierce the skin. He wasn’t going to even pretend that Loki hadn’t managed to once again cut out a great deal of his power. The suit was still spitting sparks.

While he was down, Loki ripped off his helmet - all of it, and not just his visor - and tossed it aside, putting the business end of his spear against Tony’s throat. It wasn’t a hard press, but it was on the wrong side of threatening and Tony knew that Loki need only lightly draw the blade across to take Tony’s life away with it. He wondered briefly if it’d be such a bad thing.

But Loki didn’t seem inclined to do anything with the blade. Instead, there was an ominous green glow behind his eyes which was echoed by the dizzying light gleaming from in between his fingers. Naturally, a sorcerer would want to execute his prey with his greatest weapon: magic.

Tony didn’t like magic and never had from as soon as Loki showed up with his glitz and glam, because it frustrated Tony that  _he_  was the pioneer in technology, yet his enemy was capable of turning invisible and teleporting and cloning himself with a thought and could manipulate the rules of space and time for his own perverse amusement. Thor had told them that magic was simply advanced technology, but everything about Loki screamed that the magic was writ into his very blood, his core, his essence, and there surely couldn’t be anything technological about that. Unless nanotechnology was actually in his blood stream, or his very DNA, and was passed down through the generations. In which case Tony was totally on it as soon as he got home. If he got home.

Nevertheless, Tony was yet to feel comfortable around magic, and it was the last way he wanted to go. Another dose of pills would be better than this. A car crash would be better than this. Loki beheading him right here with that bloody spear of his would be better than this.

He needed to avoid the magic, there was to be no trying about it - it was a necessity in Tony’s books, there was  _no way_  that magic was touching him - so he waited until it seemed to reach an optimal level of charge. He kept an eye on it in his periphery, because damned if he was going to look away from Loki’s dangerous eyes. They were another useful indicator, deeply emotional as the villain was, and when they reached the point of bloody murder Tony slammed himself into the ground so to avoid the shot fired straight between his eyes.

Loki snarled, reaching out to grab the collar of his suit and dragging Tony back up to his feet. Tony’s head pounded, the side of it having hit the cement a little too hard, and he blinked up at Loki who was still blazing at him with a burning emerald hand. He thought, now ignoring the magician and instead focusing specifically at the hand that was going to kill him, that at least he tried. His splitting head proved that.

But, instead of tearing Tony apart with his magic, the green flames died and Loki, of all things, shook him. The villain’s mood had completely turned on its head, and where rage had been - adrenaline, most likely, from the impromptu battle - was now a very amused, if malicious, expression.

“Do you feel better now?” The god asked, breath only slightly caught where Tony was panting, almost on the verge of hyperventilating, even. Loki let go of his grip and took a step back to put some space between them.

“Do  _you_?” Tony returned, reaching up a hand to rub his aching head. He wasn’t talking about the fight in much the same way Loki wasn’t either.

Loki’s face twisted, his expression shuttered, and the world had once again been locked out from where Loki had briefly shown enjoyment. What graced his face now was perhaps once a smile. It wasn’t anymore.

“I did not wish for this.” He hissed, and there were double meanings everywhere and Tony could feel blood oozing from his scalp and damn if the world wasn’t looking shaky. Loki and his bloody two-sided statements could go suck a duck for all Tony cared for them.

“I didn’t wish for a concussion.” He replied testily. Loki snarled at him, hitting him again. He was only just fast enough to deflect it with his one still mostly armoured arm.

“Why aren’t you dead yet?” Loki spat.

“A better question would be why haven’t you killed me?” Because Loki could. He was bright-eyed, alert and viciously aware, and even the blow he’d tried to deal to a concussed Iron Man had been half-assed enough that Tony, who was living in a slowly blurring world, could push it away before any real damage occurred. Loki should have. He could have murdered Tony at least twice in the last five minutes. Minimum. Tony continued. “It’s not like I would even mind. The team would do, and your brother wouldn’t be delighted at you, but hey, I’m suicidal, so there wouldn’t be any complaining here.”

Loki glared at him. “You  _want_  me to murder you?”

“No.” Tony corrected. “I would prefer it very much if you didn’t, and thank you for not doing it, though I never thought I’d see the day where I’d be thanking someone for  _not_  killing me. But that’s not what I’m asking.”

Loki knew what he was asking. He wasn’t stupid. He was silent.

“I mean, I know you’re a man of opportunity.” Tony said, looking around for his helmet and absently wondering whether Loki threw it over the edge of the roof when he’d torn it from Tony’s head. He sincerely hoped that if Loki had it had been smashed too much for anyone to salvage anything useful from it. “And you had the opportunity to destroy me - a member of pretty much the only team in the world who can utterly decimate you and your plans - yet, here I am. Still. Mostly whole, and definitely alive.”

“I can change that.” Loki spoke lowly.

“Then why haven’t you?” Yes, Tony had a death wish. He was pretty sure this shouldn’t be a surprise anymore, yet he still managed to startle even himself for a moment. Tempting the beast. Poking the dragon. Jabbing the Norse deity. Loki, on the other hand, simply glanced at him.

“Why indeed.” He said, considering, carefully. Tony didn’t like that tone of voice at all.

“It can’t be because-” Tony stopped, looking at Loki. Loki raised an eyebrow, lashed out, curled his inhumanly strong hand around Tony’s neck.

“Because you and I are the same? No. I’m rather fond of myself, Stark, and despite previous mishaps I try not to bring myself to harm. Nevertheless, I never believed I’d enjoy meeting myself either.”

“Actually, I thought it was because we’re suicide buddies.” Tony perhaps would have shrugged, but Loki still held a hand around his neck, his head hurt and the suit was almost as heavy as last time. He was going to invest in either back-up power of the back-up power or some type of air-light metal because this was getting ridiculous.

Loki didn’t appear impressed by Tony’s assumption and shook him again, although not as hard.

“I am well aware, Stark, that every time you open your mouth something strange will pop out, yet continually you surprise me with how very abstract you can be.”

“Well, we are, aren’t we? We’re in this together, all that jazz. You, me, Brucey, probably Clint at some time or another when he said something absent-minded within Natasha’s ear-shot. That’s suicidal. Always know where the tetchy assassins are, is what I say, because you never know when they’ll stop you from waking up in the morning.”

Another shake.

“Do you ever stop talking?” Loki snapped.

“I have been made aware I was aggravatingly unresponsive when overdosing on sleeping pills.”

“No noise whatsoever? Well, I don’t know why they didn’t just leave you where you were, then.”

“Oh, it’s nice to talk about my suicide without people tiptoeing around it.” And it was. Whilst Loki snorted, mocking, and let him go, Tony began to realise just how much everyone else was pointedly avoiding it. It was only ever mentioned when Tony himself brought it up, except with his psychiatrist who didn’t understand the meaning of the words ‘I don’t want to talk about it’.

“It wasn’t a joke, Stark.” Loki informed him, as if Tony didn’t already know that.

“Yeah, well, it’s starting to seem like one, considering you haven’t slaughtered me - not this time, and not last time, either.” Tony was starting to feel a bit lighter. Not physically, because he was still wearing a large majority of his armour and really he just wanted to sit down for a moment, but emotionally. Psychologically, even. Perhaps it was due to the concussion, but there was a freedom here in talking to Loki. Not because Loki - to some extent - understood, because that was Bruce’s role, but because Loki didn’t care.

Loki was the Avenger’s enemy, even if only because they wanted two different things, and because of that Tony didn’t have to be careful about what he said in much the same way Loki could talk very frankly without worrying about upsetting Tony. Tony had spent the last two months censoring himself as much as he could, because he wanted to keep his friends - his family - from hurting anymore. Loki, as mentioned, couldn’t even begin to care less. Not about Tony, not about Tony’s emotions, and certainly not about Tony’s wellbeing. Loki wanted to cause trouble, to be trouble, and so it was only obvious that he’d be the only one to talk to Tony like he was still a functioning human being.

Loki had gone to the ledge to peer out across the seemingly endless landscape of New York City.

“Asgard is much taller than this land, Anthony Stark.” He said as Tony stepped up to him, gripping the rail to steady himself. “And I fell from a much higher place. You wanted to poison yourself. The way we do things tell much more than what we say. Perhaps, sometimes, even more than what we do. What does our differing methods of suicide tell you about us?”

Tony considered. He thought about Bruce, and the violence behind the idea of a gun; of shooting your own brains out from your head because desperation had brought you to this point. An instant death, quite likely free from pain. Life blinked out in a second, but bloody and gory and so very brutal. An angry way to die, one might say - a revenge ploy, even, against the creature he so hated that dwelled within.

He thought about Loki - a dark shadow among bright golden creatures, hidden by the most wonderful of all, cast aside in trust and understanding. A man alone, but captured where he was by obligation and family and the land he grew up in and loved despite himself. His social standing forcing him to remain, to comply, to be what he was expected to be. Then discovering he is a creature considered a monster by those he knew, losing trust in those he loved, seeing the destruction potentially caused by a boy who was not yet a man, and he felt too small in the fake skin he had been given. Duties too large and the world crashing around him, Loki had wanted to escape. But he was still bound by his honour, by his family, until what Loki perceived to be Odin’s abandonment, and there, lying awaiting beneath him, was an escape. A chance. So, Loki took it.

Finally, Tony thought about himself - about his pills and his alcohol, and was not overly surprised by how fitting a suicide it would have been. Drugs were a factor in Tony’s early life, especially around the time his parents were killed, and alcohol had always been a presence in the Stark household. It wasn’t a passive death - it was planned, calculated, ready. It was easy enough to orchestrate, even when fuelled by booze, like Tony had always had it on standby, just in case. It wouldn’t be a shock to anyone when they found out Tony Stark had OD’d. It’d be more of a collection of rolling eyes, and how-the-hell-did-he-take-so-longs. It might even be written off as an accident, it was so like him to do. Loki had put it aptly: he had wanted to poison himself. A hit on his own body, almost. After all, no one hated Tony Stark like Tony Stark did.

Tony looked to Loki’s profile. Loki looked at the chaos below.

“I’m not scared of heights, Stark, and I never will be. Not like you and your growing aversion to pills. You can stop with this delusion that you and I are alike now.”

“We  _are_  alike, Loki.”

“I am fully aware, Stark, but our likeness cannot be found within this coincidence. I haven’t killed you for the same reason I haven’t killed any of your team: you amuse me. It is not because you and I are, what did you say, ‘suicide buddies’. It never will be. You can remain ‘suicide buddies’ with your green beast, whilst we two will keep far away from any more discussion of this. One more word of this from you, Stark, and I will gladly make breakfast for the Avengers out of your throat.”

Tony contemplated a little more after Loki disappeared. He stared at the empty space where Loki had stood until Thor managed to finish off the demon-like creature he was battling and hurtled his way up to the roof, demanding to know where his brother was.

Tony had no answer, pulling a faux apologetic face, and pretending he cared that Loki got away.

—-

He kept dreaming of falling. He dreamed of letting go.

—-

The first time Tony contemplated suicide he had been sixteen and just a little too old for his body.

Away at boarding school, bored out of his mind, far too brilliant for his classmates and teachers, angry at his parents and missing his butler, Tony had not been in the best state of mind before hand. He was lonely there; too moody to talk to people, too hyperactive to keep people, too emotionally stunted to understand people. At this point in time, friends weren’t something Tony had in abundance. Or at all.

He spent his time focusing on the scraps of metal and wiring he could change into truly magnificent things and about how he was soon going to MIT where the students would - hopefully - be at a similar mental level. Perhaps not likely, but it could happen.

Howard had been so proud, Tony remembered, when Tony told him he was getting into MIT early. Maria had smiled at him and Howard had clapped him on the back, beaming about his brilliant boy. Tony couldn’t recall if that had ever happened before. Howard was usually so lost in his own world and whilst in there he didn’t care about Tony, nor what Tony did.

That’s why he’d sent Tony to that stupid school, and Tony had hated him for it. He hated him and he hated it to its very foundations and it’s hard, red brick walls. The rooms were too small, suffocating really, and the boys were nasty and the teachers stern and unforgiving. He’d lost count of the amount of times he’d been in fights or in trouble after the first month.

All this because his own father didn’t want to deal with him.

Tony had been miserable, alone and angry. But he coped. He’d been handling everything just fine until one night he received a call over dinner that didn’t reach him, so a message was put through instead. One of the teachers handed it wordlessly over to him in the dining hall.

_Jarvis died_. It said. Tony could have just about crumbled.

Jarvis had been the only support beam he had in his household - the only one Tony could truly, without any doubt, say that cared. He had relied on Jarvis to be there when he argued with his father, or destroyed something valuable, or stormed out and snuck into a bar and made a mess of himself. That had only happened once, granted, but Jarvis had been the only one excusing about the ordeal. His parents still spoke about it with their most disappointed tones.

Jarvis had been the one good thing in his childhood, and they hadn’t even deigned to tell Tony that he was gone in person. Tony had put his head in his hands and refused to eat the rest of his meal.

That night, he had snuck out to the roof and looked down.

He wondered what it felt like to fall, and whether landing hurt more than losing everything he held dear. He watched the darkness beneath him, calculating how tall it was, wondering the statistics for how tall a height one had to drop from to die. He had leaned over slightly from where he sat, and wondered what it felt like to fly.

A strong grip had wrenched him away from the edge in that instant, screaming at him to get back. Madame Denver, the French teacher he never listened to in class, was yelling at the top of her lungs about how idiotic he was.  _What_  did he think he was doing? Does he know how _close_  he was to death? Thank the  _Lord_ she was there in time to save him. He should be down on his knees  _thanking_ her with all his heart.

All Tony could think was that she was overreacting. He hadn’t even done it. He hadn’t even meant it.

He would get through the rest of that year miserably. Madame Denver would tell his parents, his parents would only be initially concerned before soon dropping the front that they cared at all, Jarvis’ weekly letters abruptly stopped, due to obvious reasons, and Tony felt himself go adrift.

One night he worked on a plan for a robot he was going to build when he got to MIT, waiting if only because they had better tools for the job than what he could steal from the limited workshops in the school. There, in the middle of the night when the only sound was the scratching of his pen, he stumbled upon something brilliant.

In the two robots he’d make and keep during his MIT years, Tony developed AIs which were clever. Not intellectually - DUM-E had been named for a reason - but they could learn, they reacted appropriately to works and situations; one might even mistake their apparent sentience for feelings.

A few years later, long after his parents’ deaths and when their money and houses and land were Tony’s, he built into the Malibu house a similar, if more advanced, AI without a body. Besides needing a few tweaks during the first few weeks, it worked perfectly. It ran the house. Tony named it Just A Rather Very Intelligent System.

After about a month, the AI started to develop a humour. It quickly understood Tony’s jokes, reacted to them with some astonishing one-liners which had made Tony spit out whatever he was drinking at the time, yet remained extraordinarily polite to guests. It had a male British accent Tony hadn’t uploaded by the end of the second month. By the third, Tony didn’t even think of him as a piece of machinery anymore. The AI was by then a being that had definitely lived up to the name Tony have given it.

And Tony hadn’t really had destructive thoughts from then on, at least not to the extent of suicide. Once, perhaps, he’d absently wondered how much he’d have to drink to die. But nothing truly concrete, nothing genuinely threatening. Right up until he had. Right up until depression caught up with him, anger started to bubble over again, and the pressure became too much.

By that point he had found friends, had found a family. He had a JARVIS that, whilst not the original, still did everything for Tony. Tony relied on the AI in a similar way he had relied on the butler as a child. He had the Avengers to keep him company and laughing and smiling and working, and he had Pepper and Rhodey and he had his company which ran smoothly and wonderfully. He’d even had Pepper for a while in a less than platonic sense, and although that hadn’t worked out quite how they had both wanted it to, they still fit.

So, when he sat down in his expensive car with his over-the-counter pills, he had known exactly what an impact this would have. Had he done this thirty years ago before the French teacher had found him, he perhaps would have been a cover story on a newspaper. Here, now, he had people he was going to hurt, people he was going to let down. And he  _was_  sorry for that.

He swallowed the pills anyway, because the depression and the weight of his responsibilities and the eyes of expectation had the walls closing in, asphyxiating him and forcefully dragging each painful breath out of him, every one closer to his last. Tony tried to kill himself because he was tired, he was hurting, and enough was enough.

—-

He had been drunk when he had tried to end his life.

That wasn’t an excuse, of course, because he’d learnt young that being drunk doesn’t excuse anything, but it at least gave Tony a defence; something for a new level of trust to be based on.

“It’s not going to happen again.” He’d said. Pepper had twisted his arm into agreeing not to drink as well, just so she wouldn’t have another thing to worry about. Drinking wasn’t the cause of his suicide, and the psychiatrist was working hard to find that out despite the fact Tony would prefer it if he didn’t, but drinking was perhaps the reason it had gotten so easily out of hand. It was why he hadn’t been able to reason his way out of it, and why he had chosen the pills.

Had he been flying in his Iron Man suit when he decided he wanted it all to be over and done with, he would have just dropped the power. If he had been in the middle of working on something in his labs, perhaps he would have electrocuted himself. If he had been driving, he would have deliberately swerved into something solid.

Pills, he’d realised on that rooftop, suited him better. They represented him in way, like Bruce’s angry exit would have suited the monster inside, or Loki’s passive falling had given him space between himself and his problems that he needed in order to breathe for the first and last time.

Tony didn’t attempt to excuse his actions, because no one else would. Pepper certainly didn’t.

Pepper had, understandably, taken it the worst out of everyone. Since it happened, she had been both present and absent, hot and cold, flickering between distant and clingy, furious and forgiving. He understood. She had once told him he was all she had. Tony couldn’t even begin to imagine how he’d feel if he got a panicked midnight call from Rhodey to tell him that he’d found Pepper dead in a pool of her own vomit. He’d tear the world apart if she died, but he’d probably tear her apart if she lived. Tear himself apart for not seeing it coming; for not being there to stop it, to help her.

Pepper, though, had still listened when he told her about what happened with Loki.

The debrief had been fun after the last mission.

“How the hell did you survive, Stark?” Fury had said when they’d all gathered at the main room in the helicarrier after being kicked out of the infirmary. Tony had an icepack pressed against his head and was wincing at loud noises.

Tony shrugged. “I told you he was gone before Thor came up to save me.”

“And he managed to tear apart your armour like it was made of papier-mâché.” Fury pointed out. “This is the second mission with that godforsaken prick where you should have been dead, yet, despite everything, you have managed to see yourself through to another day.”

“I fought death itself so I can see you again, dear.” Tony snarked. Fury didn’t even bother to grace that with an answer.

“I just want to know why the hell he hasn’t peeled you like a potato.”

“Maybe he likes me.” Mental image aside, it perhaps would have been a valid question if Loki hadn’t answered it himself. “He says he finds us funny.” He finally blurted when he realised Fury wasn’t in a patient mood. “He won’t kill me because I amuse him. Not just me, all of us.”

Clint snorted. “Yeah, that’s just code for he can’t do jack to us because we’d whoop his ass. He’s pretending his defeats are planned.”

Thor looked about to say something, something important, but stopped himself short. Tony wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“What is it?” Steve asked, careful and understanding as always. Tony rolled his eyes, sending the god a look.

“Come on, Thor, spill the beans.” Perhaps Tony shouldn’t push it. Thor was still a little tense around him from that recent chat they’d had about a very similar subject matter.

“My brother is tenacious and can be vicious.” He said, softly, his serious face on, ignoring a "No shit," from Clint. “Sometimes even evil. But he rarely fails when he wants something. I think if he wanted Tony dead, Tony would be so.”

“Good to know.” Tony inserted, prompting another glare from Fury. He didn’t take offense - it was Fury’s signature expression.

“So I’m expected to believe that the reason this reckless idiot is still alive is because Loki wants him to be?”

“We’re suicide buddies for life, Fury.” Tony joked. “You can’t break that sort of bond.”

“I wish you’d both succeeded.” Fury snapped, and Tony had grinned, genuine, bright and true. It threw them all.

“Alright, moving on.” Fury continued. “What was he up to this time?”

Seemingly nothing, the meeting had concluded. Loki was a prankster with too much time on his hands and no tolerance for boredom. He’d wanted to make some mischief, and he’d wanted to maybe hurt a few people - his brother quite especially - whilst he was at it. He’d been triumphant in that respect. They hadn’t caught him, and if he had a bigger plan then they couldn’t figure it out. So, Loki was in a much better position than they were. They’d just have to hope beyond all hell that Thor was right and Loki had been telling the truth about the whole not killing them. It was hard to accept, however.

Talking to Pepper, on the other hand, had been a lot easier.

Sometimes Tony found himself choking up when he spoke to his assistant turned best friend turned CEO turned lover turned back to best friend and CEO. It usually happened on the important stuff, and occurred because Tony assumed that Pepper would be able to understand what he was talking about even before he figured out the words to tell her. It didn’t always work out like that - the prime example was when he cooked her an omelette and asked her to run away to Venice with him.

He explained what had truly happened with Loki for the first time to anyone without censorship. She frowned a lot but didn’t interrupt.

When he was finished, she nodded.

“I agree.” She said. “With him. I agree. You’re not alike. Just because you both tried-” She breathed deeply. “Tried to kill yourselves does not mean that you’re the same. You took a different path from him, Tony, and I still don’t know how it came to  _this_ , but it happened, and now you need to stop being angry at yourself.”

He hadn’t even realised he had been until the words slipped from Pepper’s lips. At first, certainly, but he’d thought the rage had simmered with his guilt, or disappeared with his patience. It hadn’t. It hadn’t, and it hadn’t with Loki either. He’d seen it in Loki’s eyes when Tony brought the subject up, when he’d torn apart Loki’s defences, when he  _kept on coming back to it_. He’d destroyed all the barriers Loki had put up to protect himself from his emotions, because Tony was furious with himself and with Loki and with his friends, and it was easier to ruin someone else’s life when they were on the wrong side. It was why Tony hadn’t lashed out in the same way with Bruce, because Bruce meant more to him. It was why he’d seen the image of himself more readily in Loki than in his fellow scientist, because Bruce was precious to Tony, and Tony himself, like Loki, was not. Loki was a target which Tony could more readily associate with, because Bruce was good and Tony was too angry with himself to believe he was too.

“This isn’t going to go away, Tony.” Pepper breathed, curled up next to him with a glass of water to match his own, her forehead resting against his temple, her feet tucked under his legs. “You have to learn to let go.”

“Will you forgive me?” He asked, because she had yet to and she would never forget it and she’d be heartbroken if he so much as looked as a drop of alcohol again. Against his cheek he felt her sigh, could tell she closed her eyes by the brushing of her eyelashes against his skin, savoured the way she pressed closer.

“Yes.” She said. “If you forgive yourself.”

He couldn’t promise anything. He didn’t even agree. He simply put a hand to her shoulder, twisted his body around, and pulled her to his chest. They held tight to each other, pretending the world was their own, wishing the peace to last forever.

Eventually the sun would rise, eventually a would phone ring, eventually life had to start again. But it hadn’t yet, and Tony hoped that perhaps this next day would dawn a little brighter.

He wouldn’t let go again.

**Author's Note:**

> This is available on my tumblr: space-leviathan


End file.
